Is my ordinary extra?

It's Father's Day and mine has been dead for 10 years now, but I don't miss him. I didn't cry at his funeral and I didn't sing either. He wasn't my real father, but he and his wife, my bioligical Great-Aunt, adopted me when I was seven and three quarters.

Ever since I came to this earth, I've done things a bit differently. Iwas one of those babies where the rest of the family looks towards the expectant mother in disappointment, asking, "What are you/we going to do?" No, my mother wasn't a teenager, but rather an unmarried - make that I don't know who the father is unmarried, schizophrenic with no resources whatsoever to fund a child's life. As far as I know, aborting me was never even considered, but who knows, she may have been too well along before her showing belly broke the news. There are few pictures of me as a baby, but they are all of this one day. I had on a pink outfit, almost looks handmade, and telling by the sweater material, it must have been winter. Every few years, family reunions, death, graduations, I find new pictures of this same scene, different family members cawing over me. But there was a new one I saw recently, one where my real mom was holding me, her cheek pressed to mine. She loved me and would have wanted me to be her child. I've often wondered exactly how she felt, having to give me up all because her mind wouldn't allow her to take care of me.

But I digress, this is supposed to be about figuring out whether I really do have any extra in my ordinary. Let me state again. I'm an opera singer. But I didn't come to that conclusion or self-affirmation until two years ago when I realized that singing was the missing link. I was 26 then and just over 29 now. I'm guilty. Guilty of coveting those who seem to have the easyand clear-cut path, who seem to be born to do one thing and one thing only. But I, it seems, was born to do many things, most of which conflict wtih one another.

Prophecy, encouragement, tearful wishes to see my name in lights. I grew up in community spotlight, southern spotlight. You know the whole debutante, Emily Post thing. Smiles, beauty and poise. It was suffocating. But the real problem was I didn't know it until I came up for air at 18 and moved out of the house to go to college. Playing, singing, dancing, starring as Dolly Levi in Hello Dolly, a role that won me a spot in Huntsville, AL history. But that's where I peaked, somewhere between Before the Parade By and So Long, Dearie. And that's what this transition is all about. Asserting a new peak, becoming more that the circumstances of my birth.

So is that my extra? Perserverence and such? There are no answers, only miraculous births.

Question for the day: Are we determined for extraordinariness from birth or can we MAKE ourselves extra-ordinary?